


That Which We Call a Rogue

by TravelingOsprey



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Campaign 1 (Critical Role), Gen, Names, Post-Campaign 1 (Critical Role), Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 04:11:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19191607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TravelingOsprey/pseuds/TravelingOsprey
Summary: “Names have a funny sort of power. They should, by rights, hold no authority that we do not give them. And yet… “  		The De Rolo Children, their names, and a girl called V.





	That Which We Call a Rogue

Names have a funny sort of power. They should, by rights, hold no authority that we do not give them. And yet, it was V’s experience that names had the strange ability to imbue their holders with the history they carried. Or maybe it wasn’t all names, maybe it was just that the names that surrounded V were so loaded with significance, with loss and pain, with hope and love, that they just couldn’t help but unload some of that history onto their holders.

 

It started with her sister, the first born and heir to Whitestone, Frieda Jules de Rolo. She was named for grandfather, Frederickstein Oliver Percival Von’ Mussel de Rolo II and Uncle Julius far-too-many-names de Rolo. When father was a boy, before the Briarwoods, they had been the lord of Whitestone and the heir to Whitestone respectively. They were gentlemen, lords, leaders, and Frieda fit all these notions to a tee, and then some. Charismatic, confident, and beautiful with a knack for strategy and an incredible skill at arms; Frieda was her mother’s passion and grace, and her father’s cunning in one package. She could charm any visiting aristocrat as easily as she could best challengers with sword or bow. No one had beat her at a game of chess since she was 14, and she could be really unbearably smug about it too. Still, every solider in Whitestone would gladly follow her to hell if she asked. Her ever expanding pack of suitors, from every noble (and plenty ignoble) family in Tal’dorei, would probably do the same for her hand.

 

Eli Johnathan de Rolo, the second born and V’s eldest brother, was the perfect counterpoint and complement to Whitestone’s heir.  Named for both his grandmothers (Johanna and Eliana) he seemed to be imbued with the maternal energy of his namesakes. Where Frieda was beloved of every noble she met and every solider under her command; no townspeople ever loved their lord more than the folk of Whitestone loved Eli. Eli was pious, reserved, responsible and utterly compassionate. No civilian was ever turned away from an audience with Eli. He heard their grievances and helped them with their problems, no matter how small. He was a devout man and spent much of his time in the cities’ temples and when he and Frieda sparred he did so with a bracer sporting Sarenrae’s symbol on one arm and one engraved with Pelor’s mark on the other. When they weren’t debating philosophy or competing in the sparing ring. Eli and Frieda made a perfect team.

           

Then there were the twins, Cassian Luis De Rolo and Olivia Whitney de Rolo. They were the youngest of the bunch and were named for father’s younger siblings (Cassandra, Oliver, Whitney, and Ludwig). And young names suited their young annoying antics. V would be willing to put money on the fact that they were the two most incorrigible, puckish pranksters that the castle had ever seen in its long and sordid history. Olivia was the ringleader of the pair, and had the disconcerting ability to melt into shadows, and get into places she had no right to be in. Cassian, was less devious than his twin, but was three times as loud. He had a talent for music and all other manner of noise; a fact Uncle Scanlan was deeply proud of. To make matters worse, both twins seemed to have inherited their father’s mechanical and inventive genius. Which lent their shenanigans a certain sophistication and destructive potential that most pre-teen trouble makers couldn’t accomplish. They were, however, always annoyingly loveable.

 

That just left V. No one ever really called her by her full name, Vax’ania Vesper de Rolo. Long before she knew the story of her namesakes, Vax’ania could feel the weight her name carried. The pain tangled up in it was raw  and deep. Which was probably why, to nearly everyone, she was simply V. Of her siblings, she felt like the middle of the batch both in age and personality.  She lacked both the impishness of the twins and the charisma and gravitas of her elder siblings. She preferred the woods and wilds to the castle or the town, and the company of animals to that of most people. If she wasn’t outside she was in the library, traveling to the far reaches of Exandria in the pages of a book. Most people said that she was her mother’s daughter, wandering in at all hours with woodland beasts and tracking in mud, but her mother always disagreed. “No, you are like _him_ , all reckless courage, curiosity, and caring.” Mother would say, then she would grow quiet, and V never pressed her further. But without asking, V knew that _him_ was not father. She had asked auntie Keyleth about it once, interrupting a game of _Minxie and the Dragon._ The elegant druid had instantly transformed back into her own form, and then given her a very sad smile “Yes, there is much of _him_ in you, little one” and said no more.

 

When she had figured out who _him_ was. She was confused. Honored, don’t get her wrong, but confused. Why was she like him? Uncle Vax was a rogue. V wasn’t a rogue. She wasn’t sneaky and she couldn’t pick a lock to save her life. She had tried one time, when the twins had changed all the locks in the house and locked her in her own room. She had been stuck in there for seven hours before her parents had figured out what had happened and her father came and rescued her. In all of uncle Scanlan’s stories,  Vax‘ildan Champion of the Raven Queen, was brave and rash, compassionate and chivalrous, irreverent and loyal. V wasn’t sure any of those descriptors could be applied to her. She was bookish, wild, and utterly awkward. She wasn’t a brooding hero, or dashing prankster, or enigmatic champion, or anyone’s brother-in-arms. She was well… she wasn’t anything really. Her tutors would always scold her for having her “feet in the muddy woods and her head in the clouds.” To date she only had two real accomplishments that she took any pride in. One, she had read all nine volumes of Professor Laurentius’s “Wandering Exandria: Collected Histories and Travel Guides” cover to cover; and two, she could turn into a river otter if she really concentrated. V had learned the hard way that neither of these abilities was impressive or appropriate to showcase at dinner parties.

 

Where exactly that left V, what legacy her name carried, what it meant, she wasn’t sure.  Maybe one day she would figure it out. But not today. Today, V was leaving Whitestone and setting out alone for the first time. Taking with her only what she could carry, her wits, and her name. Vax’ania Vesper De Rolo, daughter of Whitestone, Child of Vox Machina.

 

There were worse things to start a journey with.

**Author's Note:**

> "What's in a name? That which we call a rose  
> By any other name would smell as sweet."  
> William Shakespeare


End file.
